


Bad Girl Riri

by 13ways



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, But Demon Cat Rihanna has opinions, HSLOT, Inspired a tiny bit by Medicine, Louis waits for Harry after the Madison Square Garden concert, M/M, Rihanna - Freeform, Rimming, Whipping, With a sexy surprise, animal voyeurism, blowjob, butt plug, cat fic, july 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 19:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15225819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13ways/pseuds/13ways
Summary: Harry and Louis have a cat named Rihanna. She has opinions.





	Bad Girl Riri

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods for the kick in the ass to get writing again. This was super fun. I think Louis' cat would be just as sassy as he is, and would fuck him up some.

Humans are often inferior to cats in the most essential ways. I say this sitting on my tree branch, watching my human from about twice his height (ergo, not that high) as he tries to coax me down.

“Get lost,” I say.

He looks like he needs to take a poo, or is hungry.

“I need you to come down this instant,” Louis says, not understanding the imperative meow. “You mardy cat, I have no time for it right now. 

You see? A cat finds a way to be understood, no matter the language. A human natters on all the long day but gets nowhere. In my book, if you want something, grab it by the balls (of yarn). Whereas to a human, the fastest way from A to C is a detour through Q. Anyhow, too much philosophy gives me the collywobbles. I need to zone out for a moment.

The summer twilight is hanging by a thread. The sun is huge and fuzzy and warm, a fried egg yolk on the hazy horizon. I twitch two whiskers and turn pensively to gaze into the leafy branchscape, whereupon a squirrel gives me the ugly eye.

Beat it, Stumpy! For the time being, this is my domain, and you’re just a loiterer in it. He bares his pathetic incisors and scrunches his shadowy eyes. Really? As if my ancestors haven’t destroyed a million of yours.

I raise a haunch, muscle up some hackles, and briskly shove a foreleg forward. For all his parasite-ravaged brain, Stumpy isn’t stupid. He scurries to a higher branch without another look. Goodbye, loser! Cheers!

I love being a dramatic domestic, by the way. If nothing else, the health care is great. Honestly, it’s the twenty-first fucking century, who sleeps on the bare floor anymore— am I a zoo animal? I’m so glad my other human isn’t a _real_ hipster. A huge bonus for me, my human pair. They’re très fun.

My human Louis is still standing under the tree with his hands on his bum. Gotta love The Bum(TM). It’s the warmest, nicest place to sleep. But you know who else loves The—

Hold the phone, a car’s pulling up the drive. It’s crawling around to the side of the house, next to the huge hedge dividing it from the next property. The engine shuts off and the door opens. 

“Oli,” I say.

He doesn’t even notice me. He’s walking toward Louis all serious, as if it’s totally normal for Louis to be looking up a tree. Oli isn’t the biggest egg in the egg carton, shall we say, but he’s reliable for a bowl of grub when they’re both gone. He takes me to the pet hotel and I can tell he’s a bit scared of me (as it should be).

“Did you pick it up?” Louis asks him.

Oli is wearing slides that look too big for him. They slap! slap! slap! behind him as he walks— not very practical in an emergency (told you he’s no sharp tool). They’re probably not even fireproof. Sometimes I think they’re all clowns in a circus.

“It’s in the back, Lou,” Oli says. “When’s he getting in?” 

Suddenly he notices me. He’s nervously glancing up the tree, like he’s expecting me to attack him or something. Granted, it’s maybe happened a few times, accidentally? Also, I might’ve walked in on him in the bathroom while he was shitting a couple of times, just to shit with him. I like keeping Louis’ friends, or whatever, on their toes. The one whom I like is the girl, Eleanor. She’s hardly ever around. Sometimes she comes, changes clothes, and goes out again two or three times in the same day. She gives me toy treats like stuffed animals or furry slippers that I’m pretty sure are re-gifted (they come in designer logo bags— I’m a slut for swag, haha), but I appreciate her lack of trying. Girl is chill like a plate of tuna sashimi. She’s always nice to me though. Someone so effortlessly good at self-care is a rarity, you know? We recognize each other as belonging to the same tribe. 

Thinking about her, I yawn, my pretty teeth lined up in a row, the pink tip of my tongue showing. I know, I know! Vanity is a terrible Vice. But is it my fault if Nature is unfair? 

“Concerts are usually done around eleven,” Louis is saying. “But sometimes he gets held up, you know how it goes.” 

Oli nods, raising his eyebrows, and scoots around to open the boot of the SUV. He’s peeking at me out of the corner of his eye, and I want to tell him not to worry, it’s too far for me to leap. I can’t be bothered. But he doesn’t need to know that. He brings out a fancy box, all black, shiny, the size of a television, only lighter since Skinny Arms McGee can carry it with one arm.

“Was it alright?” Louis asks.

“No problems. They said to tell you thanks for the business, as usual. Said you were very generous.” 

“And,” Louis’ crinkles etch in like when he’s nervous, “no questions?”

“No questions.” Oli slams the boot closed. “You want me to bring it in?” He looks over at me, as I knew he would. His eyes narrow. “What about your cat?”

Louis’ face swivels up. Sometimes his eyes are so pale, it’s like he hasn’t got any eyes at all, but is staring at me through the ocean's pigment. I’ve never been to the ocean, but I still know the color because it’s deep inside, like some primordial _Call of the Wild_ ancestor shit. I just know, okay? Louis and I check each other out, and then I let some pity seep in, the way warm pee runs down my leg. 

“I’m coming down,” I say. “Put that worried look away, silly Boo.”

I’m not a cooperative creature, but I have this old obnoxious enemy, Curiosity. Sometimes I just need to know. I swear it’ll kill me someday.

Two hops and I’m down the tree trunk, tail waving behind me like a sexy, minxy superhero. I rue the day they snipped my sex tubes. They can _unsex_ me all they want, but I still love doing the deed as much as anyone. I am my namesake.

We go inside the house, Oli first (furtively glancing back at me, or some spot where he thinks I might be, his vision is plonk), Louis to his side, then me. We go in through the garage, past the mudroom and the bathroom where my litter box is, and into the kitchen, where Oli sets the box on the counter.

The house is dark and quiet. The air conditioning sometimes makes this high-pitched hum that drives me insane (the humans don’t seem to hear it), but it’s not on right now. I hop up on the counter and pace around the box. It smells like acrid, acrylic paint and dust, like an industrial warehouse. Then I get a whiff of something intriguing inside, something good and animal. It smells like leather maybe, like the sofas in the big room, but fresher. Like baby cows. And then a second interesting fragrance comes, a cold smell… metallic.

Is it for me? A nice little plaything? Oh, please let it be for Rihanna. Please, humans! I cannot wait.

“You want to open it up and check?” Oli says.

Louis fixes his fringe, the bit to the side that’s gotten long and needs product to stay up. “Nah,” he says, feigning nonchalance (humans are transparent), “I trust you, mate. I’m good. You want a beer or something?”

Oli shakes his head. He’s taking quick, sidelong glances at me. I take an aggressive little hop toward him. He backs off so fast, his back knocks into the refrigerator.

“I think I’ll go, Lou. So.” He’s blinking fast, trying to look nonplussed, but I hear his pulse going 120. “Call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Will do.”

“I’ll let myself out.” Oli’s eyes flick to the box, then me, then Louis, and then he’s gone. 

Louis slowly drags out the barstool by the counter and sits. He has his hands on either side of the box, but he’s taking his time with it, and it is _killing me._ Curiosity and all that.

“Open it,” I say. “Damn, human, gimme gimme gimme.”

“Oh, are you hungry already, Rihanna?” His eyes are twice the normal size in the darkness, spooky and pale blue. He’s like one of those house ghosts, which I see around here sometimes— they’re mostly boring, not nearly as interesting as Louis or Harry, always whinging about wanting to come back to life. Give it a rest already, I want to say. You already had your chance. Get lost. “I just fed you a couple of hours ago. You really shouldn’t eat until later tonight, petal.”

“Open the box,” I say. “Come on, come on.”

I put my paw on the box. He chuckles and puts his hand on top of my paw, then gently pushes it off. I have to admit, this display of gentleness does, at times, do a thing to me, which I don’t want to call loyalty exactly, but it’s like, a sweetness. 

“Let’s see what’s inside,” he says. 

“What I’ve been sayin’,” I reply. But he just smiles and pets my head.

He peels the tape from the box carefully, snicking it off with the tips of his bitten fingernails, trying to save the packaging. Inside the box lies a deep red velvet bag with a gold braided drawstring, and a short leather stick, the handle tawny brown leather and the end tightly braided.

Bitch, would that be a _fetching_ stick? Dogs at the pet hotel blab on about how much fun it is, but you know, _dogs_. Talk about your low bar. If he thinks I’m playing fetch with him, Janice has got a big surprise coming. Riri don’t fetch nothing. I’ll purr if I want to, snake between your legs if I want to, sleep with my ass in your face if I want to. I’m not running back and forth for my pleasure, and definitely not for yours. 

But Louis isn’t even looking at me. He’s staring at the leather stick with a glimmer of a smile, and has a cloudy expression like he’s got a head rush. I get that when I eat my watermelon ice lollies too fast, so I recognize it. But what’s come over him? 

Then, all at once, I know. I see it. Louis bites his lower lip, then runs his tongue over it, like he’s about to have dessert. Even in the darkness, he’s got stars in his eyes; they’ve lit up. Motherfucker, his face has gone limp; he’s already in the moment. This box isn’t for me, no. Not even a little bit. You know who it’s for? Harry. It’s always for Harry. 

“Your dads are going to be busy tonight, petal,” Louis says. He’s not even looking at me, just talking to the stick in the box. His mouth closes in a private grin.

Humans! They’re so fascinatingly complicated. Cats are much more practical. You need sex? You sneak out for a secret rendezvous, and thirty minutes later, the deed done, you come back and sleep on your human's face like a civilized animal. If you had time, I’d tell you about it, but this is Louis’ story. Anyway, I’m not sure if I envy or pity my humans.

“Louis,” I say, and he jerks up at me.

It unnerves him when I do that. My vocalization of _Louis_ is pretty close to the way humans say it. So it really sounds like I’m calling his name. It isn’t the first time I’ve done it, nor the tenth time, but Louis always gets creeped out. I remember the first time it happened, he looked at me as if I was bewitched. Which makes me kind of happy, proud. People should always think I’m magical. 

”Louis, open the velvet bag,” I say.

I watch his eyes go through my head, focusing on something beyond. Maybe my voice has acquired miraculous powers that will control his movements! I plead to any deities above, please make it so. Let me control them. 

Instead, Louis hops off the bench and starts walking upstairs, to their bedroom. He’s fast, but I’m faster, slippery as an eel. He can’t get rid of me that easily. I slip into the crack of the door just as he’s starting to close it.

“Riri, get out,” he says. He holds the door, waiting for me. “Come on, baby.” He’s pointing his finger. My god, how cute!

He should know better though? He’s my human and I’m his shadow; that’s the deal. I run to the bed and hop up, standing on all fours like the ruler of the land surveying her people— in this case, only Louis. There’s only one alpha queen allowed in this house.

“No, no, no.” He scuttles after me. “Ri, Rihanna! Bad girl Riri!” he says, ineffectually. “Leave this instant, you naughty little scamp. I’m not even joking.”

No? I’m melting him with disdain. Don’t you even know your own cat, Louis? My Curiosity gnaws at me like an itch I can’t scratch. One of my humans is acting so squirrelly (not like Mangy Stumpy from the tree, but secretive), I need to see what’s up. I need to be in there, in the middle of it, observing and meowing like a mad banshee, making them do stuff. It’s what I live for. 

“Fine,” Louis says. His hands flutter at his side. He shakes his head lightly, then walks over to the night table and opens a drawer. “You can stay, but at least get off the bed.” He takes something out of the drawer and sets it on the table. Oh, it’s that thing. I tilt my head to let him know I see it, but also respect him enough not to mess with it. 

“Bad boy Louis!” I’m trying for an indulgent voice. Nonetheless, he makes a little jump at his name, throws me a look, and then clicks on his mobile to call.

Harry’s face shows up on the screen. Through the gap of his mouth, I see a giant wad of chewing gum. He’s like a tiny, thin cow, always chewing— internal friction, innit. He’s got his back to us, but eventually he turns to face the camera, and he’s got glasses on. His in-ears are hanging around his neck, but he’s still wearing a tee shirt and trackies.

“Babe,” he says, “you okay?”

“D’you have dinner yet?” Louis asks.

He’s holding the thing behind him. I feel his heart pump faster, his body temperature warming. Harry looks up, a questioning look on his face.

“Why?”

“Can you go somewhere private, please?” Louis asks. His lips are thin with tension.

Harry squints. His glasses squish up the bridge of his nose.

“What is it?” 

“Go to your dressing room,” Louis says, “and kick everyone out. Wanna show you something.”

“Mitch and Sarah might be in there.”

“Well, kick them out, Haz,” Louis says. “Do it.”

His eyes have a laser beam focus. Harry senses it too. Without another word, he holds the phone in front of him and walks down a dark, long, wide hallway with industrial concrete walls. It doesn’t look too romantic or comfy. You can see steel girders on the ceilings and trash bins in the corners. He turns a corner and the hallways are lit up to show chunder-colored beige flooring and walls. I see a piece of cardboard with some human writing scrawled on it, taped above a door. 

Harry knocks on it. “Anyone in?” He shouts loudly, then bangs on the door again. “Hullo? Coming in on three! One, two, three.” 

He opens the door and closes it behind him, the screen temporarily blank as he tries to find the light switch. The difference between mobiles and real life is that there is no true black in real life. There’s always a light somewhere. A cat will find it.

His face appears on screen. “What’s so important, baby?” He smirks a flirty smile. “What did you want to show me?”

“Got a surprise for you when you get here tonight,” Louis says. “Picked it up today.”

“Oh?” Harry replies. “Do I get a sneak peek?” 

“No,” Louis smiles slyly. Sometimes he’s just like a cat. He fucks with people; I love that tiny human. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

Harry scrunches his nose, not yet peeved but puzzled. “But I thought— ”

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Louis interrupts, “wearing this.”

He brings out the plug and holds it in front of him, while Harry’s eyes widen.

”Will you?” Harry’s voice is stuck in his throat, halfway between a rasp and a growl. His jaw goes slack.

Louis opens the bottle of strawberry-flavored lube, and coats the plug with it. After he props the phone on the nightstand, he pushes down his shorts to his knees, showing no pants underneath. His half-boner tilts handsomely to the right. Atta boy, Louis! 

“Louis,” I say. “Good job!” 

Instead of being proud, he startles and glares at me. I feel a tiny bit guilty. No one likes to be surprised during phone sex, and no one deserves it less than Louis. He’s a good egg, and they don’t get to do this often.

“Sorry,” I whisper. I jump down from the bed and sit in front of him, cheering him on. 

“Have you got Rihanna right in front of you?” Harry says. “That demon cat?”

Excuse you, Harrison! I’m Lou’s entire cheering section for the time being. Give a girl some credit.

Louis flutters his magnificent lashes. “She ran up a tree a while ago,” he explains, “chasing a squirrel or summat. Sometimes I think she does it just to spite me.”

“Lou,” Harry says sternly. “Focus. Forget about the cat.”

Rude.

“Right,” Louis sighs. He looks down at his cute bratwurst. It stirs to life. His hands stray down to his sides, and then he turns, filling the phone with the hour(and a bit)glass-shaped silhouette of his soft, cushiony rear end, a perfect place for— 

“Fuck,” Harry says. He sucks a breath in. His hand goes to his crotch.

“Haz,” Louis says. “Watch me.”

He turns his bum toward the phone and bends over, his hands pulling his cheeks apart. His fingers stray toward his pink, puckered hole, which looks like the split crack of an overripe peach. His other hand is doused in lube as he fingers himself.

“Lou.” That’s all Harry says, but I’ve heard that voice before, usually right before he’s on top of Louis, smashing their bodies together. They’re reckless, these two. They do some wild, sweaty things. Harry grunts, and one of his hands disappears inside his trackies, stroking himself. Harry already has enough sausage for two, and when he’s worked up, it snakes all the way down to his thighs. It’s a kraken.

Louis’ matching him moan for moan. He gets the plug and pushes it against his hole, until the tip neatly disappears.

“Harry,” he groans. “Fuck. Want you.”

“Want,” Harry’s breathless, his voice cracking open like a canyon, “want you too, baby. Want you so bad.”

“Want to feel you inside,” Louis says. As the plug sinks, his moans get more desperate. 

Harry leans sideways against the door. It’s hard to see him now. He’s set the phone on the floor so he can still watch. I can hear the rhythmic tug tugging of skin on skin, a squeal of moisture here and there. His trousers are at his mid thigh, and once in a while the monster cock flashes into view, smeared with his fluids and abused by his hand.

Louis tugs on the end of the plug, making sure it’s set. As he pushes against it, he shudders with a tight sigh.

“Harry,” he says. “I need you here.”

“Baby, baby.” Harry’s breathing is shallow, erratic, the slaps harder and closer together. “Ungh. Fuck. I’m so close. Can you wait for me?” 

“ _You_ wait,” Louis says. He stands straight and pulls his shorts up. “Don’t come yet. Wait till tonight.”

“Argh!” Harry’s frustration is palpable. “You make me insane.” His massive, wet cock fills the phone screen for a second, and I, a meek neutered cat, am both impressed and repulsed. 

He seems to be pulling his trousers up too. The breathing slows, hearts returning to normal rate. Show’s over, for the time being.

“Bravo,” I say. “That’s restraint.” I hope my sarcasm comes through the language barrier. 

No one’s paying attention to me. It’s the most frustrating feeling in the world… well, maybe second most frustrating.

“I love you, darling,” Louis says, his hands looking like he’s murdered a bowl of strawberry jello. He smiles sweetly into the phone.

“Not as much as I love you,” Harry says, face flushed a dark raspberry. I can still see his boner tenting up the stretchy fabric on his trackies. I wonder whether humans get hot under all the useless clothes.

“Love you more,” Louis says.

“I love _you_ more,” Harry counters.

“No, _I_ love _you_ more.”

“No, I…”

Then they’re making moopy faces at each other as if they’ve just fallen in love, even though they’ve been at it for as long as I’ve been here.

 

 

 

•••••

 

 

 

The front door slams open. It’s after midnight. Traffic must have been bad coming from Madison Square Garden. I see the bright flare of lights backing out of the driveway, and imagine Jeffrey digging into a cup of granola and yogurt in the backseat, thinking he’s eating healthy. Bless his heart, he’s always trying to get around his diet.

“Honey, I’m home!” Harry yells.

Harry always thinks he's hilarious. He sounds tipsy. I lift my head from the bed where Louis has been taking a cat nap. I can’t smell anything from here. Harry has too many candles everywhere and it confuses the hell out of my senses. They’re good, I guess, like everything else they own, but to me they smell weird, a mixture of dead elk, flowers, and tobacco. Some things in nature are not meant to be together. Honeydews and cumin. Mint and skunks. Other things, like Harry and Louis, were just meant to be. 

I hear footsteps bound up the stairs. Harry used to clop around in boots like some desolate English cowboy, but he’s long switched to trainers. Vans even, just like Louis. He learns! There’s some incoherent mumbling, but in two seconds he’s at the top of the stairs, big puffy breaths going in and out.

“Louis! Lou!” He’s stopped, probably bent over in an alcoholic haze. Or is just tired, because he works hard, our human Harry.

I feel a faint stirring next to me. I scoot closer to Louis’ and aggressively lick his forehead, pretty sure he would want to wake up.

“Hey,” I say gently. “Boo, he’s home.”

Louis grumbles, moving his face further away. Too sleepy! My humans have bad timing. I know they don’t see each other often and act goofy with time zone changes, but they ultimately love each other. So I try my best.

“Louis!” I yowl. “Louis! Louis! Louis! You need to wake the fuck up! Hubby’s home!”

He leaps up, eyes going in different directions, chased by the tail-ends of dreams. It’s actually adorable, because he’s naked from head to toe, and his hair has lost some product so his fringe is soft, cascading down his face. 

“Whoa, what,” he says, his brain marshmallows. “Where.”

“When, why,” I finish for him. “You passed sixth form, I know. You’re brill. Now go get your husband.” 

Without acknowledging my help, he stands up and staggers toward the bedroom door, just as Harry bumbles in. They nearly smash into each other in the dark. 

Harry’s hand reaches out. He sighs involuntarily, sinking his giant paw into a palmful of soft, curvy skin. Both hands come to encircle Louis in a loose embrace. Louis almost disappears into it. Harry smells like a light bubbly white— Prosecco, maybe.

“Sorry,” Harry says. “The traffic sucked.” 

“You’re here, it doesn’t matter.” Louis turns his face up. “Now kiss me, you fool.”

Harry’s lips find Louis’ and they make slow, wet sounds together— some licking, some slow breaths in and out, definitely some biting. Louis is pulling up on Harry’s translucent white tee, and Harry tosses it off in one fluid motion, unzipping his trousers and pushing them down. 

He’s walking Louis backward toward the bed, his monster already rigid below his pants. He steps out of the pants impatiently. 

“Wait,” Louis says. A hand touches Harry’s chest, stopping him. “Your surprise.”

“But I thought— you showed me— ” Harry’s confused, but his pupils dilate dark and round, ready to play. “What’s going on?”

Louis almost skips to the black box in the corner of the room. He lifts out the leather stick and hands it to Harry, whose face gives over to a manic grin.

“Hold that for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry says, his voice already in a syrupy trance. I feel that way about fresh tuna from Chelsea Market.

“Be good,” Louis says, “and maybe I’ll let you come tonight.”

“Whatever pleases you, sir,” Harry says. “Your will is my command.”

“Bunny,” Louis calls. Harry’s face turns soft, compliant, willing to do anything Louis asks. Louis has lifted the velvet bag and loosened the braided knot. He takes out a strip of black leather with metallic rings— I congratulate myself on my excellent nose— and says, “Come put this on, love.”

Harry descends on both knees so Louis can fasten the collar on him. He doesn’t hesitate a bit. It’s as natural as drinking water. I know what he’ll drink tonight, though, and it ain’t water. 

“Who do you trust?” Louis says, now wide awake. His eyes are lighthouses.

“I trust you,” Harry says. “I trust my Lou.”

“Harry, I’ve missed you so bloody much,” Louis says. “It’s so lonely without you.”

Harry watches quietly, and then strokes Louis with one hand, running it down the side of his thigh. Louis inches closer, putting Harry’s face at groin level. Harry sinks his face into it with a happy sigh, his lips right next to Louis’ cock yet not quite touching.

“You want your medicine, Bunny?”

I know it’s time for me to make myself scarce. They're gonna do the dirty. No judgment from me, good on them. It's no time for me to pussyfoot around. I trot to the corner of the room and lay down on my satin pillow. Twenty-first century living.

Harry nudges against Louis’ groin, nodding yes. He purses his lips around Louis’ cock and sucks the head in, all the way around the foreskin, freeing it up to lick at the nerves under the tip. Louis flinches violently.

“That’s it,” Louis shudders. He can barely get his words out. “Good boy.”

Harry keeps sucking and slurping with his hands at his sides. Louis cups the back of Harry’s head and arches his back, feeding more of his cock in Harry’s mouth, his hips thrusting rhythmically.

“I’ve been watching your concerts, Harry,” Louis groans. His hand grabs Harry’s hair, pushing his face forward. “You like that cock. You keep telling everyone about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

”But not any cock.”

Harry pops Louis’ ding dong out of his mouth and gazes at him with luminous eyes. Those bitching green eyes. My human Harry could have some feline genes. His lips are twice their normal size, which is to say enormous. 

“No, sir.”

“Whose?” 

Harry lays his cheek against Louis’ shaft, then like a magic trick, turns and deepthroats the whole thing in a second. 

“Yours,” he gag-mumbles. 

“Up to your mouth.” Louis wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, simultaneously stroking Harry’s wet, puffy lips. “Feeling it out.” He pushes his finger in as Harry licks and kisses it, tonguing it, gagging a bit. “Feeling it out.” His finger pops out.

Harry grunts, laying the flat of his tongue under Louis’ shaft and swirling it up, ending with a sweet suck under the head. Louis groans loudly.

“Yes, sir. I like the cock, sir,” Harry growls. 

“Lovely.” Louis says.

“May I play with your arsehole, sir?” Harry asks. His surface meekness is offset by the deep, ferocious rasp just underneath. 

“You may,” Louis says, “but don’t make me come. I want you to fuck me until I come. Want you to make a mess.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Harry brings one hand up to find the end of the plug. The other hand wraps around the base of Louis’ cock, rhythmically jerking him as he sucks Louis from the front while playing with his plug from behind. Every stroke seems to build Louis up until he violently turns his face into his shoulder, popping his collar bone deeply. He shudders and exhales, his lashes wild and long.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis cries, voice high and tender. “I’ve missed you.”

“May I fuck you now, sir?” Harry asks. 

His hand involuntarily travels to his cock, wetting the long shift with his spit. Louis nods and Harry stands, rubbing their cocks together. Harry’s leaking enough to fuck Louis three times, from the looks of it, the wetness coating the head and dripping down. Louis’ walking archly toward the bed, but Harry catches his shoulder and turns him around, kissing him deeply on the mouth. 

“Darling,” Harry says.

He kisses Louis again, full on the mouth, with every nerve shooting tenderness, desire, sadness, and they embrace, just as they’ve done a thousand times. They embraced in front of thousands at their last official concert together, where cheers went through the roof for their love. They embrace closer, knowing their time together was short, and every embrace was separated by distance, time, pretense.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” Harry says.

Louis pressed against Harry. “Fuck me,” he says. “Whip me.”

So that’s what that stick is! Why didn’t I think of that? A cat is kinky, but a Louis is kinkier.

Harry backs Louis against the bed and makes him lie belly down, putting a pillow under for comfort. Louis’ bare arse is raised in the air like a mini volcano. Harry pulls the plug out with a pop, and pushes Louis’ legs apart. He crawls in between the toned thighs.

Harry sinks his teeth into Louis’ arse, making Louis yell out loud.

“Fuck! That was hard, Harry!”

“I’m sorry!” Harry says. “Sorry, I’m— was it too hard?”

“No,” Louis turns around. “Is there blood?”

“‘Course there isn’t,” Harry says, indignant. “I’m not an _animal_.” 

“Heyyyyyyyyyy,” I say. Was that warranted? Of course, no one’s paying attention to me. 

Harry’s licking the spot and massaging it, his licks moving closer and closer to Louis’ hole. Louis can feel it too. His arse points higher and higher, and Harry’s giant hands roughly pry the cheeks apart. They jiggle like fresh toro. Oh, how I wish they’d get me tuna tomorrow!

“Finally,” he says, “some fucking good food.”

He lays the broadest part of his tongue down and lathers the hole extravagantly. His tongue pokes in deeper, licking out the lube, kissing Louis’ skin all around. He licks, and the hole winks. Louis is hitching these high, soft ungh ungh ungh noises like a baby bird. They’re adorable when they’re horny. It makes me happy knowing they love each other so much. No sane cat would lick another cat’s arsehole like that— ‘cause what are we, dogs? 

Suddenly, Harry delivers a whack to the arsecheek. It takes me by surprise, and Louis as well. He flinches, suppressing a groan. 

“Sir,” Harry asks. “Alright?”

“Yes, love,” Louis says, wincing. “I'm good.”

Harry’s kissing over the reddened skin, lightly massaging and licking it. Then he licks another spot, massages it tenderly, and gives another lightning crack. 

“Oh!” Louis shifts up the bed. “Fuck. You’re really into it.” 

“I’m into it,” Harry smirks. His fingers trace over the pink line on Louis’ arse, where a welt’s starting to form. He lets another whack fall, and then before Louis has time to recover, whacks the other cheek. Louis cries out as Harry bends to kiss the skin, giving little kittenish (and I should know!) licks like he’s sipping milk. 

“Motherfucker,” Louis says. “You put some shoulder into that one.”

“Alright?”

“It’s _so_ bad,” Louis says. “I feel _so horny_ for you right now.” 

“Want my cock?” Louis nods, his mouth hanging open. “Bet you do.” 

Harry sinks his teeth into The Bum and sucks up the skin, licking and sucking with his teeth until there’s a reddish-purplish bite mark exactly matching his bunny teeth. At the same time, his hand slips between Louis’ thighs and he starts fingering him, sliding into the rim.

“Shit,” Louis says. 

Harry swirls his long fingers as they disappear in Louis. As the strokes get longer and firmer, Louis’ hand slides over to his cock and he starts touching himself. He makes little raspy, helpless, gasping sounds. 

“Shhhhhh, shhhh.” Harry smiles like he does on stage when he shushes the audience, but hornier and drunker. As if he has a secret. 

“Fuck,” Louis says. “Fucking dimples.” 

Harry’s smile deepens. He’s really working him now. Louis can hardly stay still, his cute bum humping the bed desperately. 

“Alright, sir?” 

Louis turns around to show Harry his hard cock, the head bursting an angry deep pink, the bedsheets covered in precome.

“Does it look like it’s alright?”

Harry grins. “Yes, sir.”

“Then don’t stop,” Louis commands. “Keep going.”

“Yes sir!”

Harry lays down another crack, and then raises Louis’ bum in the air, positioning himself. His hand guides his cock closer, and then he presses himself in, first the big head, then the rest of the shaft. Louis, who was already stretched and loose, accepts him like a hand in a glove. Harry sinks into Louis and pushes the whole way, a treat for his massive cock which usually takes fifteen minutes just to go six inches. He sinks in so fast that both of them fall forward. Louis reaches a hand out to steady himself. 

“Feels so fucking good,” Harry says, not thinking anymore. “So right.” He’s pushing hard, feeling the friction. “So, so right.”

Louis’ cock lays leaking on the bed, every push goading him closer. He bites the sheets and feels Harry’s tongue on his back, hands delicate on the spots he whipped, fingers ghosting over the skin like a breeze. Harry is licking, sucking, biting, but only on skin that won’t be seen, that can get covered up.

Harry leans over and kisses the back of Louis’ neck. The hairs get goosebumpy. He kisses the demarcation between the tanned and untanned skin, blowing whiffs of find hair out of the way. His hand reaches around to play with Louis’ nipple. Feeling the soft puffed skin turn pebbly beneath his fingers, Harry pushes hard, feeling the tingle low in his spine, the muscles tensing for a release.

“Love you, babe,” he moans. “Love you forever.”

Louis slumps back against him and squeezes down. His nipple tightens under Harry’s touch. He squirms to get away, but Harry’s huge hand has him trapped, and the warm, dirty feeling travels all the way down to his pelvis, where his cock is about to burst. One more nipple twirl should do it. His mouth is dry, but there’s wetness everywhere else, their sweaty bodies sandwiched together, the warm and salty viscosity between his legs, and Harry’s leaky cock pumping him.

“I love you more,” he says, breathless. He’s nearly there.

“Love you,” Harry pulls back and with one last push, shoots his load into Louis. “Love you more. So much more, babe.” 

Louis moans and bursts into the sheets, drenching white on white. He raises himself on one elbow and turns, asking for a kiss. Harry thrusts his tongue in. They’re joined, head to pelvis, connected in every way, body and soul. Harry kisses him deeply, filling him with his spunk, dripping out around him. Louis tongues Harry’s teeth, his jawline, his neck. He’s going to have to wear high-collared shirts for a while. He sucks the skin, bruising it in his favorite spot, next to the jugular. 

“Babe,” Harry pulls out, sinking down beside him, a hand covering his eyes. “I love you, but my God, I’m sorry. I’m so beat. Want to suck you out. Can’t.” His eyes are half closed, and his lips look like friars have beaten the hell out of them.

Louis touches the collar gently and then removes it, kisses it and lays it on the table. Harry is nearly asleep, breathing unevenly, his broad chest rising and sinking like waves. Louis lays a kiss as delicate as lace on Harry’s forehead.

I leap up on the bed, stepping around all the mess. The humans are done, finally. Time for Rihanna.

“Louis!” I meow. “Louis! Louis! Louis! I’m hungry!”

I step around them, making sure they have scratches from me too. Love hurts.

“Louis!”

He stares at me angrily, as if he wants to shoot me full of poisoned darts. Rough play, I’m loving it.

“I need some fucking food! Louis! Please, Louis! I need it!”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Wordplay prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "Need". To read the amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/need/works), and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, [click here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wordplay_fic_challenge/works) or find the masterpost for this year’s challenge here.


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